


Two

by thesilverarrow



Series: Doctor Who/Companion ficlets [5]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, M/M, but no Amy/Eleven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2497835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverarrow/pseuds/thesilverarrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was not Tatooine. The Doctor was adamant about that.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two

**Author's Note:**

> Let's say this is fairly early days. Earlier, anyway, than "A Good Man Goes to War," for (to me) obvious reasons.

It was not Tatooine. The Doctor was adamant about that.

Yes, yes, not a real place, she said, handwaving away his protests and stumbling out the door with Rory in tow.

The important thing was, he had brought them anyway -- all because he asked Rory where he wanted to go, and Rory said:

“Alright then, I want to see Tatooine.”

There had been no arguing from the Doctor, just a puzzled pause, then a sly smile and a tap-tap-tap on the console screen, followed by some muttering about the eerie resemblance the _Star Wars_ rebels had to a disgruntled military unit he’d once seen in a parallel universe, but, no, Amelia, George Lucas is not an alien.

A few minutes later, they were rambling through a dusty village, one sun blazing hot on its way down and the other already hovering at the horizon. It was beautiful but weirdly normal. She had to keep reminding herself that this was a strange sight: given the things she’d seen, this was as close to earth as she’d experienced for a while.

In the village, they picked up some dense, dark rolls that looked like pumpernickel but were light and fluffy, and a soft cheese like brie that happened to be green. The locals were also a slightly lighter shade. They were like plants, absorbed the sun for some of their nutrients. They were friendly to their party, but confused. Most off-worlders, they said, tended to gravitate to the red sand deserts to their north and west.

She couldn't see why, though. This savannah was pretty damn charming. They picnicked in a meadow just outside of town, under a stand of small fruit trees. The fruit was equally small, fleshy like a plum and reportedly rather sour. She was a little leery of eating any, but it was a nice scent on the air.

As the first sun went down, it began to look a lot more like dusk under just the light from the second, the dimmer of the two. In the prolonged half light Amy felt herself growing sleepy. She lay back on the old wool blanket they’d fetched from the TARDIS and studied the thin, light-catching clouds and the stars she could see. Then, she placed her straw hat over her face, ostensibly so she could doze off but in reality so she could watch the Doctor.

It was so rare these days that he was still long enough to be observed like this. From her angle, it was easy to look at his face for far too long, to watch him watching Rory — while Rory told animated stories of the first disastrous camping trip they took when they were sixteen, or as he climbed a nearby tree to reach some of the not-yet-fallen fruit and tossed it down to them, or when he set off across the field to see what was in the treeline on the other side. The look on the Doctor's face was beyond friendly fondness, and even beyond anything he usually dared when he thought no one was watching him.

Once Rory got well out of earshot, Amy couldn't take it anymore.

“You know, you don’t have to stay here with me," she muttered.

“What if I want to?” the Doctor replied quickly, with automatic faux indignation.

“Oh, come on. You like exploring. And you like Rory.”

“Of course I like Rory.”

“I know," she began.

This called for removing the hat from her face. And sitting up.

"I mean," she said softly, "you _really_ like Rory. And that’s okay.”

Squinting into the dying light, she couldn't exactly see his eyes, but she watched his shoulders fall.

“That’s okay,” he echoed dumbly.

“I’m serious.”

His head jerked up and he turned to look at her, both annoyed and...afraid?

“How can you be?” he asked.

“So I’m not wrong?”

She imagined he would put his head down again, or else say something sarcastic or ridiculous, make faces and change the subject or the whole tone of the conversation – all so she wouldn't know what he was thinking. That was his way.

But this time, he didn't.

“Of course you’re not," he said softly, and she saw that particular weary warmth in his expression the made him look all of his centuries old. "But I’m not sure you know what you’re saying.”

At that, Amy forced herself to sit up, and she looked him in the eyes. That didn’t mean her heart wasn’t beating wildly as the words came out of her mouth.

“Okay, how about I be really, really clear: I can see that you want him, and I know for a fact that he has designs on you, and I have no problem with the two of you...exploring that.”

“No problem?” he replied, eyebrows raised, a smile on his lips. And there he was again, the man who aged but somehow never grew old.

“Alright," she replied, lying back again. "I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a little, I don't know, weird. But I trust the both of you." She felt an impish smile lighting her face. "And I’m really tired of all the wistful, longing looks.”

“Wistful?” he echoed, affronted but amused.

“Ought to be your middle name.”

They sat there in silence for a moment, and, as she looked out over the horizon, she realized the second sun wasn't setting but rising. What had been a dark, deep sunset sky was turning to a pale yellow dawn.

"So," the Doctor said, “when you say explore, you mean...?"

There were lots of things she meant, things that put her in danger of blushing like mad, quite frankly, but the truth was she didn't know and probably never quite would, even if Rory tried to explain it to her. Wasn't that what intimacy was, something only two people shared?

Well, two and two, she told herself. She thought she could learn to live with that.

“Well," she replied, "we haven’t had that conversation, exactly, me and Rory. If I know him, and I do, I'd say there's a good chance he doesn't have any bloody clue what he wants, not precisely. As for you, I wouldn’t even venture a guess about a thousand-year-old body-swapping alien."

"Oi!" he said, but he was grinning appreciatively, like this was not the weirdest conversation they'd had in their time together.

Actually, it probably wasn't. That was the crazy thing.

"Okay, then," she said, "call it what you want. Just figure it out. Together.”

He nodded, but he didn't look back at her. His eyes were on the far side of the meadow, where Rory was moving back in their direction.

Sometimes, she could see in Rory's gait the mark of his time spent soldiering, a confidence and strength that even colored his voice sometimes. At the same time, he was still the kind, patient boy she’d always known. Now, with this traveling the stars and the time stream, she felt like she knew him better than she would have done otherwise.

When Rory ambled up the blanket again, hands in his pockets, he smiled and said, “So, there’s a bit of a wood all around us, and there’s a trail through it, if the TARDIS is translating the signpost properly. Anyone like to have a walk?”

Not very subtly, she kicked at the Doctor’s foot, and he frowned at her, but he quickly rose to his feet.

"Will I do?" he asked, smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt and setting right his bowtie.

Rory just nodded, smiling.

After a long pause, the Doctor stepped toward him and held out his hand.  Rory was so shocked that he immediately took it without a protest, though soon enough he shot her a slightly panicked look.

Her heart made a leap — envy and joy in equal measures — to see the Doctor thread their fingers together. She smiled and raised her eyebrows at him, then, impulsively, she blew him a kiss.

They hadn’t gotten too many steps away, though, before the Doctor called out over his shoulder:

“Well, are you coming, Pond?”

His voice was what did her in, all typical impatient eagerness but almost undetectably shaky with nerves. Almost, because she knew him almost as well as she knew Rory – as well, at any rate, as anyone could.

Two and two…and two? she thought. That was probably why she would be able to live with it.

So she picked herself up off the ground and strode toward them, ready to take up Rory's other hand.

“I suppose you lot could use a chaperone,” she chirped, grinning mischievously.


End file.
